


Resounding Echoes

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:08:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28694460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: It had been a pretty typical mission.   A successful one too, with no real after-effects, not once they got over counting their bruises and got caught up on their sleep.  Or so they'd thought - until that NEXT mission rolled around, and things got tricky in the extreme.  Seems there had been a few after-effects after all, ones they'd have been better off knowing about - ones that might have a dire effect on their getting back THIS time.
Kudos: 3





	Resounding Echoes

It had been a pretty typical mission - a little conning, a little thievery, an impersonation or two, some hotwiring of three different vehicles, a couple of explosions, one hot and heavy shoot-out with the enemy. Yeah, pretty typical for Garrison and his crew, right down to the 'escape by the skin of your teeth' exit.

They were getting out just in the nick of time; the Allied bombers were heading that way and they did NOT want to be anywhere in the vicinity of that factory complex when that payload came rushing down! Closer and closer to the exit, even though the road kept getting rougher, more rock-strewn as they sped along, sometimes holding on by their teeth and fingernails, or so it felt. They could feel, could hear that clock ticking down the minutes.

"Hang on," Casino yelled, wrenching hard at the wheel which had suddenly decided to have a mind of its own. Well, when the steering column decides to just give up under the strain, that does tend to happen.

The others grabbed for the closest available place to do just that, but in the stripped down jeep, those were few and far between. Goniff, seated in the middle in the back simply had nothing within reach TO grab hold of and ended up on the floorboards trying to use his legs to brace himself between the front and rear seats as the jeep performed acrobatics never intended of the vehicle. Well, that was better than being tossed into the air, landing who knows where, though it would certainly leave evidence of that hard landing. 

Actor was to Goniff's left, and a quick elbow latched around the frame held him in place somewhat. He'd been mostly airborne for what seemed an eternity, but still within the gyrating shell of a vehicle both before and AFTER its rough landing. He shuddered afterwards to think of what would have happened if the jeep had landed with that side down. He would have lost his arm, most probably, if not his life. 

Chief was thrown clear of the resultant wreck during one of those last twists, luckily to the side of the rocky trail NOT now occupied by the mangled jeep. Bruises aplenty, but at least he had no broken bones. 

Casino had, miraculously, emerged dazed and staggering, but still in one piece, after pulling himself out of the narrow space between the jagged metal shaft that was all that remained of the broken steering wheel and his ribcage. Actually, he was still clutching the steering wheel in one hand even when he pulled himself out; it was easy, no real show of strength, since that wheel was totally disengaged from the rest of the works 

Looking at that jeep, they couldn't believe they'd all made it out alive. All? 

"Hey, where the hell is the Warden?" Casino asked, finally counting noses.

And they all shook themselves free of their combined shock and proceeded to determine just that. Just where the hell WAS Garrison?

At first they couldn't see him at all, even when they pulled the mangled jeep up enough to anxiously peer underneath. They only located him after a low moan brought their frenzied search to the bottom of a steep gully about sixteen feet away from their original impact. He was alive, even starting to sit up, though spitting out muddy water and assorted dead plant growth that covered him head to toe. Well, as much as they could tell, since the murky water reached well up over his waist. 

If he hadn't still been nursing the effects of that wild ride, being bucked out and landing in that inhospitable gully, he might have gotten at least some amusement from the picture Casino described to him a couple of days later once they got back to the Mansion. 

"Like some swamp monster, ya know?? Muddy and wet, with all that slimy stuff draping all over you and hanging down. Coulda been used for a picture in one of those horror mags you see on the stands. Hey, bet you could pick up a few extra bucks posing for something like that, Warden."

As it was, Garrison just gave him one of those looks, turned and headed back to the office where he hoped the Sergeant Major had left a couple of aspirin tablets. He was hoping like hell they would help. Between that gash over his ear and the resultant headache, the ache from his bunged-up wrist, that queasy feeling from the filthy water he'd inhaled and swallowed, he was NOT in a good frame of mind. Two aspirin, a drink, and some peace and quiet while he went over those last two reports one more time before sealing them in the pouch and sending them on their way - that's what he needed, not Casino suggesting he pose as a model for a horror story.

The aspirin helped, at least for a little while, and the wrist was coming along nicely. He'd even stopped wearing that elastic wrap Doc Riley had insisted on. The gash was healing, the redness and puffiness receding. The headache and nausea? Not so much, and that new, probaby unrelated, bit of misery, the earache, was an unwelcome addition. 

The echoes in his head were getting worse minute by minute, too - echoes from any noise around him, even his own footsteps in an empty hall - and most recently, even echoes of voices not really there now, though they had been in the past. Echoes of his parents and their family doctor chastising him for 'being a baby', not letting him cut school or his chores because of his complaints. Echoes of a lecturer at West Point. 'A soldier soldiers on. It's not talked about, maybe, but it's part of what makes a soldier a soldier. Especially an officer!' The far gentler echoes of his grandmother's voice as she'd tended him, soothed him, during instances of illness in his very early childhood - those were there too, but he didn't acknowledge those. THOSE weren't going to make him stiffen his back and 'soldier on', not like the others; no, he wasn't going to coddle himself!

The irritability was increasing, enough the guys took notice and tried to tone things down a little. That didn't really help much, since every time they lowered the volume or eased off on their rowdiness, Garrison's edginess seemed to escalate. They'd pretty much reduced their voices to a whisper, their antics down to zero, and Garrison was STILL in a pissy mood, growing more so by the hour.

The final straw was when he walked into the Common Room and had to jerk back suddenly to dodge that new-and-improved paper airplane Goniff had created. Goniff had argued to Casino earlier that, while he might not know much of anything about the real kind, THIS kind was easier "cause they don't make me want to throw up"; besides he had a new idea on making the things dip and swirl just like he wanted. "Just my luck," as he complained later - "I just get the thing going right, and in walks the lieutenant!"

Garrison had lowered the boom, yelling like they hadn't heard him do since that job they'd really stretched the limits on. Goniff, in particular, was gape-jawed at the words directed at him; the ruddy airplane hadn't even TOUCHED their leader, and even if it had, it seemed calling him all THOSE names was really a bit much! It was just a folded sheet of paper, not a leather sap!

They were left silent, wondering just what the hell had just happened; Garrison had left to go and, once again, throw up and put a wet rag over his pounding forehead. His dodging had created an aching as if that airplane had actually made contact, and as if it had been made of lead, not paper. The echoes of the guys talking, laughing seemed to pound at him in waves. The echoes of his own yelling at them, at Goniff, were even louder, seemingly on an endless playback loop.

Still, he 'soldiered on', as his father had so sternly ordered so many times during his youth, as his instructor at West Point had stressed an officer was supposed to do, and if a turn on the obstacle course had him sweating with more than just exertion, he didn't share that with anyone. He just handed the guys over to Sergeant Major Rawlins to work on the firing range, went inside, wiped down, threw up yet again, rinsed his mouth, and grimly went on to whatever was next on the agenda for the day. Well, sometimes an injury, even a minor one, could take awhile to work itself out, even if the swelling from that cut HAD gone away.

When even just tilting his head, WATCHING the guys working out on the ropes or the jump tower had him wringing wet and nauseated, he thought about seeing Doc Riley, but decided that was unnecessary. The doctor had other things to deal with besides listening to Garrison moan about his aches and pains. (That was Garrison's opinion; probably, had he actually GONE and talked to Riley, he'd have found the doctor had a sternly differing opinion.)

Finally, just as he was leaving to head to London for a briefing on what might become their next mission, he realized his throat had decided to join in with the other parts of his body trying to distract him from more important things. "A fine time to start catching a cold," he growled under his breath as he crossed the main hall below, feeling the pressure as he swallowed.

"Did you say something, Craig," Actor asked, sticking his head out of the door leading to the kitchen. "And - are you alright? You look a little flushed." They'd all commented on how their team leader seemed a little, well, 'off', just not right, (actually, their descriptions were a lot more fervent than those, especially Casino's and Goniff's) but any inquiries had met with an annoyed disclaimer, pretty much the same one delivered just then.

"I'm fine. I'll see you when I get back. And, Actor? I mean that - I want to SEE each and every one of you here when I get back! We might be headed out pretty fast; it sounds that way, anyhow."

The slamming of the door made him wince, especially since he was the one who'd slammed it. He KNEW better, would have regretted it even without that reverberating echo in his ears.

The ride seemed endless, and the noise of the wheels, the whistle of the wind through that side glass that wouldn't go entirely closed, later the sound of the other vehicles on the road, voices from the seemingly-endless number of people in the building, irritated his already-jangled nerves. 

He sat through the briefing, read the file, nodded, ignoring that odd sloshing feeling when he did so. It would be tricky as hell, this job, but he was up to it, and the skills he could see being needed were ones his guys were masters at. Did he wish he'd had time to get over that incipent cold and earache and the twitchy stomach? Yeah, but it wasn't like the war was going on hold while that happened.

"Alright, when do we leave?" he asked, running the back of his hand over his damp forehead.

Kevin Richards looked carefully at the young lieutenant. "I had thought tomorrow night, Lieutenant Garrison. But I must ask, are you sure you are up to this? It looks to be quite challenging, and you look - well, you've looked better. Perhaps a stop by the Med Unit -"

"I'm FINE!" came back immediately, a little more crisply than Garrison usually addressed a superior officer.

"Hmmmmm, well, if you say so. Do let me know by first light if that changes; I'll need to get another team in place - or perhaps, borrow your men and get someone else to take the lead for this time. Especially since you will have already briefed them by then. I believe Matherson and his crew is available, but he WILL need men with your team's skills to assist."

Garrison fumed all the way to the entrance, not even looking in the direction of the hall that led to the Med Unit. Recognizing finally what he'd tried to deny to himself for some time now, he cursed softly. 

"Of all the lousy timing!"

Every bounce of the car, every noise, put him more on edge, enough he reluctantly pulled up in front of a small pharmacy. What was it his grandmother had used when he used to get an ear infection? Sweet oil and cotton? Well, he could try that, at least til he got closer to the base. No way was he going around at the Mansion with cotton in his ears, but maybe using the remedy on the way back, maybe in his own room after he turned in at night would help. The gentle cosseting his grandmother had provided surely wasn't an option, though he ruefully wondered if that hadn't been half the cure right there, that warm sympathy and support. Along with that disgusting black liquid she'd insist he swallow, probably, though he had no idea what that might have been, and actually was just as glad. Even following it with a spoonful of honey'd whiskey hadn't killed the foul taste. It really HAD been disgusting! {"No, better hope the sweet oil was the real key!"}

When he got to the outskirts of Brandonshire, he hesitated, realizing his earache had only gotten worse, sweet oil and cotton not-withstanding, though maybe it had been too much to expect relief in that short time period. He grudgingly took the turn that would lead him to Doc Riley's place. However, once he'd stopped in front, he growled to himself, reached down to start the car again, and headed back to the Mansion. 

"I tell Riley all my little aches and pains, he'll start up, maybe get Richards involved. I'm not having the guys out there with someone else, not on something like this. Besides, I have a few ideas that should work well, maybe cut the risk quite a bit. I bet if we. . ." he said to himself, wincing at how even those soft words seemed to reverberate in the enclosed atmosphere.

By the time he pulled in and turned the car over to Private Jenkins, he was up to his throbbing earlobes in plans and contingency plans and possibilities for a likely con or two. Any thought of talking with Riley disappeared like morning mist, though he could still hear that faint whistling from that cracked glass in the car window echoing in the background. Echoes of a slamming door, of the guys talking, of himself yelling - the echoes just wouldn't stop, and only grew louder as the men expressed their dismay at this new mission. 

Not that they didn't agree the wild story, if true, showed someone needed to bring the activities of this Dr. Coxen to a speedy halt. But as Casino suggested and the others didn't disagree with, "so why can't they just bomb his ass?"

Garrison wasn't sure he liked his own answer any better than they did, but it was what he'd been told, what his orders were. "Because our side wants to know what is really going on. They want us to bring him back, him and his research."

Actor, in discussing it with the others later, expressed his own severe doubts. 

"Yes, I can see where someone, at least certain someones, would think that an advantage, what he has discovered. Most 'efficient', although I can think of several other terms that would apply as well, many less favorable."

Casino had swiftly rebutted that. "Efficient? Hell, it's nuts! You think that's even possible? Something that can just get rid of people - poof! - but leave everything else okay? Make someone just disappear like that?"

"That is what is being surmised, although who knows on what scale that might be possible," Actor insisted. "That is part of what we are to discover."

"Whole towns, just empty all of a sudden," Chief whispered. "Could think of a lot of people who'd think that was just fine, as long as they could decide which other people would disappear. You think it'd be all or nothing, or maybe just some picked out special?"

Goniff was looking increasingly pale, visualizing all that. "Places like Brandonshire, all the buildings just fine, but everyone just gone? Maybe even places like London. Maybe New York even," thinking of those he knew in all those places, including his mum and his Aunt Moll. "Think Casino is right. Drop a bomb on 'im and 'is plans and all; I don't see bringing any of that back for some bloke over 'ere trying to make use of it!"

Still, they had their orders, a determined leader to follow, and they made ready, each with their own reservations about the job ahead. They knew it wasn't the end of their discussions, that was for sure.

Now on the plane, Goniff was sleepy-eyed from the motion sickness herbs Meghada now provided him by the tin canister-full. Chief and the others of the team kept a close eye on him, making sure he didn't fall prey to one of those sudden dips and turns the plane was making. 

They were keeping an eye on Garrison, too; their leader was looking worse by the minute, though he kept insisting he was fine, finally snapping at Chief after that low "you doing okay, Warden?" telling him, telling them all to "focus on Goniff if you have to try and mother-hen someone!" 

He refused to admit just how miserable he was, or how bad he had to look if his guys kept giving him those side glances of worry. Damn it, he was a soldier; he knew damn well how to 'soldier on' through a few aches and pains! Though, if he'd been honest, with them or with himself, he would have to admit, a 'few aches and pains' didn't really fit the bill. The vibration, the roaring of the engines, the pressure from the altitude - that was all agony, enough he didn't even register the question Actor had posed about the first contact, not til the man asked a second time. 

Garrison hooked up, took his turn at the jump, the pain intensifying enough he wondered if he was going to pass out. He only caught himself in time to pull the cord to release his parachute high enough to prevent a very bad landing. For just a second, it had actually been a temptation to NOT pull that cord, if that's what it took to make the pain stop!

"Air sickness, Craig?" Actor had asked with concern when Garrison had completed his landing, started to collapse his parachute, only to have to pause to empty his guts into the grass. "That is unlike you."

"It's nothing," Garrison growled. "Wind took me spinning in the wrong direction, that's all. Maybe I should start using some of Goniff's magic packets," he offered in an attempt to dismiss the whole subject. The others had landed too far away to witness that embarrassing show of weakness, and it took only one stern look for Actor to know he was NOT to mention it to the others.

The entry was flawless, the con was ideal. Doctor Coxen was expecting observers from Berlin, and the appearance of two such individuals was most welcome. He was, after all, most eager to show off the results of his intensive study into what he liked to term 'Apodotikotita', "Formula A, for short - for efficiency, you might say." He giggled in a disturbing manner. "After all, the Greek word, in its entirety, translates to something similar to 'efficiency', as I am sure you two gentlemen are quite aware. That is what my formula promises, and I assure you, it delivers - efficiency! The primary downside to war is the destruction of valuable assets along with the removal of inconvenient individuals preventing the victor from accessing those assets. MY formula removes those individuals while leaving those valuable assets unharmed! Can there BE anything more efficient??!

"I could hardly be more pleased with the results of my experiments, and I belive you will be as well. Formula A is easy to manufacture in quantity and at a reasonable cost. It can be given by injection, of course, and that was how I started with my testing. But it is much more adaptable than that, luckily, since that is hardly an efficient way to deal with a populace. With only a slight modification in the process, it is capable of being administered as a gas or a concentrated liquid. Tasteless, without scent, but deadlier than the most deadly of poisons - a substance well suited to be spread from the air, perhaps by a similar design as used for spraying fields. Or, of course, in a liquid form, through a community water supply, Or through grain reserves, if the concentrated form is sprayed on the processing equipment or storage facilities.

"Now, let me show you my files. I kept most careful records of each test subject, the progress under each type of application. You will see - in each instance, no matter WHICH method was used, the result was the same. The first shock to the physical body, then the rapid progression, eventually death. And in the end? The body itself simply eats itself into nothingness, leaving only soiled garments behind, but with no actual damage even to the fabric beyond what a good washing would solve. And no damage whatsoever to any non-living materials placed within contact - wood, metal, even paper itself emerges unscathed! 

"Can you imagine, gentlemen, the possibilities??! This will completely revolutionize the very CONCEPT of warfare, making it less hazardous and far less expensive to overcome a resistant population, and without any collateral damages! Livestock, the only other casualty, would need to be replaced, of course, but that's hardly THAT much of a consideration. And vermin, of course, but one would hardly WANT to replace those, now would one?" Doctor Coxen asked with a sly chuckle, a bubble of saliva appearing at the corner of his mouth to linger unattended

Garrison and Actor managed to get through that, give their approving nods and words of encouragement, get back outside the compound before giving way to their shudders of horror and disgust. Sharing all they'd learned with the others had brought those shudders back, though now they had good company.

"They want us to bring him back, and if not him, complete photographic record of his files. They want it all, the formula, the experiments, his conclusions as to the most effective means of distributing it."

They each remembered what Garrison had told them, hadn't refuted those orders. Not then. But now? After seeing those pictures, seeing what was possible? 

The plan was in place, each struggling with what they knew, what their orders were. Struggling with what lay ahead in their attempt to seize the good doctor and his files. Now, more than ever, they were sure bringing Coxen back to London would be a very, very big mistake. Convincing Garrison was the issue, though hopefully something would happen to change the playing field, making that easier to do.

The second trip, the one where they intended to make their move, was initially as uneventful as the first.

Garrison and Actor were once again welcomed with open arms, Casino and Goniff standing by stoically. If the doctor looked at them questioningly, Garrison brushed off his inquiry with a smooth explanation of "our guards. After we reported on your outstanding results, as important as this mission obviously is, it was felt best that we not be unaccompanied during our travels to and from your facility."

Who knows what caused the doctor to become suspicious; perhaps the increasing pallor on those two 'guards' faces as more of those very graphic pictures were laid out and Coxen excitedly narrated the progress of his formula on that young woman who was described only as 'Subject G-47'. Perhaps it was the audible gag given by one of them at the final picture, the one showing the enthusiastically smiling doctor carefully using a poker to hold up the empty and befouled lab gown the young woman had worn. Or, maybe, it was the look of almost-equal nausea on the faces of the two purporting to be emissaries from Berlin.

In any case, the doctor's smiling confident demeanor dissolved into a petulant whine, then into sure and certain knowledge. Before Actor, being the closest, could stop him, Coxen lunged for a nearby counter, one he'd described the contents of earlier. One, a syringe, supposedly holding a dose of the doctor's formula intended for the next experimental subject, yet to be selected. A beaker of the formula in its concentrated form. Various racks of tubes had been described only as 'harmless reagents, not important or dangerous in and of themselves; simply something to use to test other possible variants of my formula."

They struggled, and the doctor grabbed for the syringe. It was, to his mind, the least effective means of administering the formula, since it was, of course, only one person at a time. So inefficient! Still, there were times when it would probably be necessary, and he was very glad he had that syringe, fully loaded, just sitting in the rack. These impertinent men, so interested in his formula! At least ONE of them would get a chance to experience it first hand! He was quite sure that once the effects began, the others would panic, giving him time to press that emergency button on the far wall! That would bring assistance from the guard tower and they would ALL pay for trying to deceive him!

Garrison stepped back out of reach of that wild swing, then leaned forward to grab the doctor's wrist. It was the work of only a second or two for that syringe to be buried in that skinny shoulder, the plunger jammed home. The shock, then the sheer terror on the man's face was mind-numbing, though his panicked actions were frenzied in his efforts to escape the inescapable.

"Craig, back away! We must get out of here! He's too near that . . ." and then the doctor's flailing arms hit the beaker and sent it flying through the air. Casino lunged forward in desperation, grabbed it before it could hit the cold tile floor, but the nearby line of tubes didn't fare so well, shattering as they were swept to the floor, one splash of liquid hitting Garrison across the throat and face, dampening his hair as well.

"Craig, come on!" Actor shouted, grabbing Garrison by the shoulder, pulling him toward the door. Coming to himself, Garrison stumbled along, the sudden movement activating the vertigo, making it even worse than it had been after diving out of that airplane. 

"The files . . ." he said, using one hand to hold himself upright against the outside wall.

"Screw the files, Warden! Screw this whole job! You want that shit loose, in ANYBODY'S hands? You trust the guys at the top, ours, theirs, ANY ONE that much?" Casino raved, staring with horror-filled eyes at what was happening inside those glass walls. No one would have recognized Doctorf Coxen now, the lesions now covering every inch of exposed flesh. Judging by the quickness with which the formula was destroying its creator, that syringe had held a highly-concentrated dose. Or maybe not. Maybe that was just how fast, how effective it really was.

Garrison's mind flashed to those files so lovingly compiled, what they'd shown; the experiments; the charts as to how best to distribute that formula among an unsuspecting populace.

"Actor, did you read anything in all that that said how this could be destroyed? WITHOUT spreading it around and killing everyone in a hundred-square mile radius? Maybe further if the winds are right?" Garrison ground out, not taking his eyes away from the horrific scene in that room. The intercom in the wall had allowed them to hear the screams from the doctor, at least while his lungs still retained enough integrity to deliver those screams. Garrison was pretty sure he'd hear the echoes of those screams for an eternity, even after they shrank and turned to wet bubbling sounds.

Actor nodded, his own eyes focused on that shrinking figure, on what was rapidly becoming an empty, if exceedingly befouled set of clothing. "Fire, if intense enough, will render it harmless. It might even act as a gentle fertilizer; that's actually what he'd intended in the beginning, it seems, before he discovered its more potent, more profitable, possibilities."

Garrison looked at his waiting men. Their opinion was there in each of their faces, their fiercely determined eyes, and it matched his own. After all, his orders were to bring Coxen and his records back IF FEASIBLE, and it wasn't. Coxen was dead and those files - those files - 

"Okay, gentlemen. Move it! Let's blow this dump straight to hell. Start with this area! The whole place is supposed to be empty for this meeting but still watch out in case it isn't. No slip-ups, and leave us plenty of time to get clear. Then get to the car!"

They made it back to the car, Chief waiting at the wheel, and were away. Abandoning the far-too-recognizeable staff car at the first available opportunity, they'd gotten only a couple of miles away when those fuses finally burned down and the blast shook the horizon. 

Garrison, running entirely on determination by now, felt the ground shift, then the vibrations and noise hit, and then the seemingly-neverending echoes, and his firm resolve to 'soldier on' failed in the torrent of agonizing pain in his head. His men watched in horror as their leader gave one last groan, grabbed his head in desperation, and collapsed into a limp heap.

They were waiting for Chief to return with transportation. They'd intended to make their way out of the city on foot to avoid roadblocks, but Garrison's rapidly deteriorating condition made that impossible. 

"You think w'at 'e got on 'im, it was some of that stuff?" Goniff asked in a low cramped voice. He'd seen those pictures too, had watched as Coxen dissolved in front of them; now wanted to throw up thinking Garrison might be line for the same thing. Only the fact that it had been awhile with no other such signs was encouraging, though not nearly as encouraging as he would have liked.

"Shit, I hope not!" Casino swore. "Whatta ya think, Beautiful? Think he's headed for what we saw back there? That it's just taking the slow train to get there?" giving Garrison a queasy look. Well, that made four of them, and if Chief had been there, probably five.

"If 'e did, get that on 'im, I mean, we can't take 'im back," Goniff acknowledged, not waiting for Actor to reply. 

Well, his mind had been acting like a pinball machine ever since Garrison had collapsed, one thought bouncing to another then another and through a complex set of possibilities that he didn't like one little bit. The one thing that kept chiming up, one possibility, it made no sense whatsoever, and he admitted that probably meant it was what had to end up happening. Life just turned out that way sometimes.

"They'll probably lock 'im up in a steel room somewhere and take notes as to w'at 'appens. Probably won't be the case, though; if it WAS, it's taking a lot longer than with that bloke," he insisted, trying to force confidence into his voice. He admitted, at least to himself, if it WAS the formula, Garrison probably wouldn't last long enough to MAKE it back. The thought of making it to the exit, being on that sub and having to scoop Garrison's remains, such as they were, into a duffle made him want to throw up. Never mind what HQ would likely do, just the thought . . .!

"I don't see how he could have been exposed to the potion itself; we were all very careful to avoid what the doctor indicated was such," Actor said, but without any great degree of confidence. "IF Coxen was truthful with us, of course, in what he told us," he admitted.

"Those vials on the counter were supposedly something quite different, if the doctor was to be believed. He even told us they were 'harmless reagents'. He had no reason to lie to us, not as pleased as he was with how 'well' things had worked out. And these symptoms do not seem to match anything I read in the file. From what I have seen, he seems to be experiencing something quite different - headache, sensitivity to sound and vibration, swollen glands, red streaks in the same area of his neck and throat, fever, nausea, vertigo, irritability. I have to wonder; I had the feeling he was not at his peak before we left. Perhaps this is something he was coming down with before. You know he hasn't been himself recently," the conman said, more hopeful than convinced.

If Garrison hadn't been the bottom of one of those see-saws of consciousness, he could have reassured them at least somewhat, if he had been willing to allow the blow to his pride. And by then, he probably would have been willing, to tell them that none of those symptoms were actually new, only in their new level of debilitating severity. At least it would have alleviated some of their concerns, given them more options for dealing with the situation. As it was, however . . .

"Still, you know they get one good look at him, knowing what that creep was working on, he's gonna end up a lab rat somewhere. And we'll end up back in slam, or maybe locked up in steel rooms of our own while they wait it out - just sit back and take notes and wait for something to happen. Probably get bored and forget to ever unlock that door even," Casino offered gloomily, finishing the tail end of a scrounged cigarette.

Goniff had moved closer, swept Garrison's hair back out of those feverish eyes, his own eyes not leaving that familiar face, feeling the intense heat burning under his hand. Then he unclenched his jaw, firmed his lips, forced them to utter the words he really, REALLY wished he hadn't thought of in the first place. No, he didn't mean that, not really; it was good to have something to offer. What he REALLY wished was that someone had just decided to bomb that ruddy place, doctor right along with it, in the first place, but since that hadn't happened and everything else HAD, he didn't see he had much choice now. 

"W'en Chief gets back, we can 'ead for Charentes, just like planned. The exit should be in place, right, Actor? We're still in time, or should be, right?"

That got him a reluctant agreement from their second-in-command, along with a growl of discontent from Casino since it didn't seem to relate to the real problem at hand. Goniff gave them both a fierce frown, held up his hand to hold them off while he finished.

"So alright, we 'ead for Charentes. But we make a stop first, or maybe a detour, don't know which since I don't know w'ere we are right now even. Not too far from there is a place called Vendy, or something like that. Bet you know it, Actor. There's a place there, 'eard about it from Meghada w'en she knew we were 'eaded in this direction - a safe 'ouse, like. Can draw it out when we get closerl 'Gaida made me take a good long look at that bit of the map; showed me 'ow to recognize it and w'at's around. It's set back away from everyone, that place, so we could probably slip in, no one would even know anyone was there. No one to be 'urt by us being there either; wouldn't 'ave to get anyw'ere near anyone else even. She says the place is always stocked with food and supplies and such - unless Jerry or someone already raided the place, of course. 

"You could all 'ead back, meet up with the sub, give them up at HQ some line or other. You for SURE let 'Gaida know; if this goes really bad, she needs to know, keep anyone else away. The lieutenant, 'e'd be safe there, as much as anyw'ere, the way 'e is, til we know one way or the other. Could send word, later, 'ave you arrange for a pickup for us, you know? If it goes alright, I mean. Ian would know 'ow; probably does a run in that direction anyway, the way 'e's all over the place with those planes of 'is."

"We? Us? Does that mean you intend to stay with him?" Actor asked. "Why you? And if it goes right, you say. What if it does not?" 

He decided chiding their pickpocket over sharing details of their assignment with the Dragon was useless and irrelevant at the moment. Of course, that might not have been what had happened, probably hadn't even; the woman apparently had her own sources, had volunteered such information before without any of them saying a word. And, he had to admit, it wouldn't be the first time her knowledge had come in handy, though perhaps never in such dire circumstances as these. 

Goniff shrugged, uncomfortable, not meeting their eyes. He couldn't answer that, not really, only knew that was the way it needed to be. 

"Got to be one of us, don't it? Can't just leave 'im alone like this. Don't see any reason it shouldn't be me to stay; you can tell me w'at to do, and you can spare me easier than Casino or Chief," he argued.

"And have you considered, if it turns out this IS perhaps the formula, a different version perhaps? One that is perhaps contagious, so that anyone who stays is at as much risk as Craig?"

He didn't mention his doubt at HQ accepting that 'some line or other'; there was enough else to concern them at the moment.

Goniff gulped, shuddered, not liking the idea of dying screaming in agony like those pictures had shown, ending up just a puddle of nasty-looking clothes like they'd seen there and at first hand with Coxen, but stood firm. 

"If that AIN'T the case, you need to lead the others out, Actor; you're the one who knows the language, 'as the skills and all; and the others would be of more use to you than I would be. And you need to explain to HQ; aint likely they'd listen to any of the rest of us, now is it? Not to me, for certain! As for the rest, it being contagious and all, probably start getting wise to that before we get there, if it's so. After all, 'e started showing signs right off, pretty much anyway, IF that's w'at it is. Don't 'ave to decide anything along those lines right now."

Casino growled in sheer frustration in the silence surrounding the happy, happy thought of all those complications. 

Actor pulled Goniff aside, not too far, just enough to give them the illusion of privacy, trying to see if the pickpocket truly understood what he was letting himself in for. Casino gave them the space, though obviously he could hear every word being said.

"And if he starts exhibiting those symptoms once you are there, alone with him, then what?" thinking of the agony obviously felt by those victims of the doctor's experiments, the bloody eruptions on the skin, the hemorraghing from the ears and other orifaces, the rapid dissolving of the flesh itself. There was no cure, nothing he had been able to find in the notes. {"A woeful lack of imagination on the doctor's part, surely, never imagining anyone could use his formula against his own side - whatever side that might be other than his own profit line - not seeing where an antidote might be quite useful."}

Goniff looked sick, shivered, but Actor could see the determination on his face. "I'll 'ave my gun with me; not much of a marksman, but won't need to be, now will I? I won't let 'im go through that, Actor. Seen those pictures, them screaming like that. Saw w'at 'appened with Coxen 'imself. Just melting, bit by bit, like a slug you tossed salt over! I WON'T let it be that way for 'im. And if I start to see anything with me, after? I'll be keeping back one bullet, now won't I? I won't leave 'im alone, but after . . ."

The fear was there, the stink of it palpable, but so was the resolve, and Actor didn't doubt that. However, there were other things he DID doubt.

By the time Chief returned, the possibilities had been worked over, and after filling Chief in, it was decided unanimously. Vendée it was, and they would hope Goniff's memory and Meghada's story were both accurate. A great deal depended on both. 

For it had been decided. They were ALL staying until they knew for sure, even if there were no signs of infection in the others. If there was truly a safe house, Actor could only assume there would also be a means for contacting help once they truly knew where they stood. Or for letting others know the place was now a plague-dwelling, to be destroyed at a safe distance. No more taking chances as had been done with Doctor Coxen and his facility. He was grimly aware Clan O'Donnell decided things differently than HQ might, had a moral compass that was unwaivering, if sometimes incomprehensible to those the Clan called 'Outlanders'. That they would think this something destroyed, not used, he didn't doubt that in the least.

It was a quick trip, especially since they took care not to come into contact with anyone, not even for long enough to obtain food or drink or any other supplies. If they were going to this effort to contain any possible contamination to others, they weren't going to spoil it by being careless or selfish at this point. Infecting the populace of France with this nightmare wasn't any more appealing an option than infecting the populace of England, after all.

"There, just like she said it would be," Goniff whispered as they lay looking over the small house set on the far outskirts of the town. There were no lights, though they would hardly expect those during wartime, nor any other sign the building was occupied.

Actor nodded with determination. "Very well, we go in, just as we planned. Casino, Chief, you bring Craig. Goniff, show me this out-of-the-way entrance Meghada spoke of."

At first it looked like they'd made a huge mistake. Well, that cocked revolver, followed by two others, when they worked their way into the house, WAS a little disconcerting. But aside from finding the safe house already occupied, it hadn't turned out bad. These were fellow travelers, also aware of its status among the Friends and Family of Clan O'Donnell, taking refuge when they had been needing a safe haven while awaiting extraction by friendly hands. 

Andre Gaspare, one of the four, his being a doctor had been most fortuitous. He had listened to Actor's worried explanation, had nodded and in a few words directed his companions, though not the others, to retreat to the far stretch of the safe house. That wasn't all that far, but it was the best option available, and Garrison's men had already been exposed. 

It wasn't pleasant, having to manhandle their team leader like that, but Dr. Gaspare insisted on a full examination, paying particular attention to Garrison's lymph nodes, of which there appeared to be a considerable number scattered throughout the body, including some in areas the lieutenant, even in his current semi-conscious condition, objected to being explored. Luckily the doctor had been expecting nothing less, and it had taken no more than a quick examination to have the doctor shaking his head in relief. 

"Non, this is something far more simple. An ear infection with the attendant difficulties, but one allowed to go much too far without treatment. Have you been without medical care for so very long? I would think this has been building for quite some time. It has spread some, but not to his entire lymphatic system. Treatment would be better attempted in a more suitable location, but . . ." and the gnome-like bearded man shrugged in resignation. He was becoming quite familiar with dealing with less than ideal situations.

Gaspare spoke of a possible remedy, one intended to prevent Garrison's eardrum from bursting with dire effects. None of the team was in favor of the doctor trying to pierce a tiny hole in that membrane to release the pressure, not under these conditions. Gaspare wasn't all that thrilled at the prospect either, of course. Still, as the fever rose and Garrison's condition worsened, they grimly prepared to assist the doctor in any way they could. 

"This. Plus fomentations to cause the infection to drain. I am told there are medicines and healing herbs stored here, but I have not yet explored beyond the most basic, not having the need, but few of the labels were familiar to me. The signal over the radio should be coming within the next hour; hopefully whoever is on the other end has knowledge of what is there and how it might be used in this case. I must admit herbalism is not among my specialities."

When asked by Casino just what were Doctor Gaspare's specialities, they could only exchange a resigned look at the odd places and situations fate tended to land them.

"Obstétrique et pédiatric medicines," the man said with a rueful shrug. "Although, be of good heart, mes amis. While I will admit the first is of perhaps little use to your friend, the latter is of considerable use. Such infections are quite common among children, you see."

And although there was nothing in the least amusing in the situation they found themselves in, still, just a ghost of a laugh came from each of the men as they translated those specialities, not that they needed a linguist to do so. A release of tension, surely, but they would be vying for who would eventually get to share that little bit of the story with Garrison, encourage him to perhaps list Gaspare as his official personal physician along with, of course, the doctor's specialities. The mood rapidly turned serious, though, as the doctor explained what would be needed from each of them over the next several hours. 

And if Goniff was even paler than usual as he wrapped himself around Garrison's head, holding it firmly in place for the doctor's attention, he was also grimly determined to follow his instructions, not to let the man get out even one good wiggle, {"not even a ruddy twitch!"}. And the others, holding their leader tightly by his arms, his legs, noted with approval, not even that gush of foul-smelling fluid or the sharp gasp of pain from Garrison caused their comrade to slacken his grip, to move away. Turn decidedly green, yes, but not flinch from what he was doing. 

The voice at the other end of the radio was brisk, competent, and promised assistance as soon as "we get a pathway clear", whatever that meant. "In the meantime, Doctor, let me acquaint you with Ardis; she will direct you to the herbs that might prove helpful, explain how they are to be used. It won't be for long, not if our information is correct. We have Friends clearing the way even as we speak."

Indeed, it was only the following night when the gentle tap-tap-tap at the door alerted them that their rescuers had arrived, and not long after that, the entire group was headed off to safety. 

Garrison was aware of that, during one of his bouts of consciousness. However, much of the time he was still in his own private world - a world of echoes. Echoes - of his solitary footsteps in the upstairs hall of the Mansion, echoes of silence and foreboding, of chatter and arguing and laughter from his men, echoes of an airplane's roaring engines, of bombs, of flames. Echoes of his grandmother's soft voice tending him through a few childhood ailments, balanced unevenly against the sharp chiding of his parents at similar times. Echoes of screams from the man who had died in front of him, echoes of his men yelling, urging him to run, get away. Echoes of some few of those same voices, those of his men especially, each offering comfort and reassurance, encouragement, each in their own way. 

And as the medical treatment started to take hold and as the echoes finally started to die away, for the most part anyway, he was relieved. Once they stopped ringing in his ears, then maybe he could forget them. Well, except for the ones he wanted to remember, the few that brought comfort, not distress, and while it was odd that there were now more of the former, he wasn't arguing against that, found it perhaps uncomfortably unprofessional, but not uncomfortable otherwise. As for the ones that brought regret or anger or anything else he could perceive as negative, he'd try to let those fade. 

But the screams from Doctor Coxen, the man who had developed that substance - he didn't really regret those - better that one man's screams than the countless thousands, even millions that would have resulted from that substance being put into production. That man's screams he would, COULD live with without regret.

Actor had given Garrison a complete briefing once their team leader had recovered to the point of being up for that, was due to be released from the hospital bed he'd been temporarily confined to. The con man had stopped short of lecturing Garrison on withholding his illness from them, but Actor hadn't really had to say the words; they were there in the con man's dark eyes. 

"And I believe you should know, Goniff insisted on staying with you," Actor had said toward the end of that briefing.

"You ALL stayed, you were all there when I came to; I remember that," Garrison replied, puzzled at why Actor was stressing that about their pickpocket.

Actor sighed. "Yes, Craig, we ALL stayed; the possibility of this being communicable," that stern look now turning into words, "since we had no way of knowing your condition was the result of something quite else, was just too great. However, before I, we had even considered that aspect, when we had not gotten further than YOU being affected, when we were afraid you would become the latest of Doctor Coxen's victims, of what HQ might feel appropriate if that were so, Goniff insisted on finding a safe place for you, a place he'd been told about by a mutual friend. And, since you could hardly be left alone, he insisted he would be the one to stay and guard you. To stay, to guard you - and, if necessary, see your end was swift and not so agonizing as what it might be otherwise. He was also prepared to end his own life, if it came to that, afterwards, if he exhibited symptoms, so that he would not prove a risk to anyone else."

Garrison was speechless, the enormity of that almost beyond his comprehension. Well, yes, he himself would have gritted his teeth, done much the same if the situation had called for it, for his men or really, for anyone else, considering what was at stake. But somehow, it was more than a little unnerving considering his pickpocket undertaking that same task.

"Why? Why would he take on that responsibility?"

"Do not ask me, Craig. I only know it was his idea; he was willing, even determined, although he knew the risks, the possibilities. A little further thought, however, and I realized that the risk was already there, and not just for you or for anyone who stayed, but for all of us. We could not risk any chance of returning, of bringing this back to England with us, not until we knew it was safe. So, when he said he knew of a possible safe house, one away from others, it seemed truly our best option."

Garrison persisted with his original line of questioning, knowing he would need to ask more about that safe house later, but that now was not the time. "But he was willing to stay, on his own. To stay, use that gun, that last bullet, if necesary." He was still trying to balance that with his impressions of their resident pickpocket. A mother hen, yes, Goniff was that, but that really was taking it to extremes!

Actor hesitated, then decided blunt was probably the right way to go. There just might be an added benefit, especially if Goniff followed through on what he'd said earlier in private. It could be the pickpocket was just venting, expressing the frustration they all felt at some level or another, but perhaps not. And even if he was just venting, perhaps a word or two would encourage him to stick with his guns, be the prod that their lieutenant obviously needed. Actor had a feeling the other team members would back him up as well. Now, he prepared to lay it on as thickly as necessary to get the desired result.

"Yes, Craig, he was. Even before we realized each of us could already be infected, could not risk returning until we were more confident we were not. He has as much reason to want to live as any of us, perhaps more, considering Meghada. But he was willing to risk all of that because you needed someone and he decided, for whatever reason, he needed to be that someone. I am not certain how you thank someone for that, but I think you should perhaps make an attempt. Don't you?" 

That look from the con man was sternly reproving, and Garrison wanted to protest, but didn't. The door opened just at that moment, and Goniff popped in with the clean uniform he'd gotten from somewhere in preparation for the lieutenant being released to return to the Mansion.

"Actor tells me, back there - you volunteered to stay," Garrison offered hesitantly, without preamble. 

Goniff gave Actor a wide-eyed look of dismay, thinking he could have used a little warning before the con man just up and sprung this on him! Then he shrugged nonchalantly, not meeting Garrison's eyes, busily fussing with the layout of the clothes while offering an off-hand reply.

"Couldn't go off leaving you alone, now could we? Turned out Actor decided it was best if we all stayed, and it worked out alright. Just lucky that Frenchy doctor was already there; 'e was a right pip, 'e was; knew just w'at to do, it seems." 

Obviously the pickpocket wasn't going to address the issue of who had volunteered for what or when, not then anyway. 

And frankly, Goniff wasn't GOING to, not ever, not if he could get away without it. The Cockney was certain that would lead to more questions, questions he didn't have the answers for, at least not yet and probably never would. Might even give the lieutenant ideas about how he might have 'leadership abilities', which he surely did NOT have and didn't want anyone THINKING he had! People, especially someone like the lieutenant, start thinking things like that, they might start expecting to put you in charge of something, like he had with Actor, make you responsible for someone else besides yourself. No, that wasn't for him! As if his life wasn't complicated enough!! In any case, he couldn't see how trying to explain away his actions could benefit anyone anyway.

"Goniff - " Garrison started, only to have the Englishman give him what was an oddly panicked look and a fast "like I said, we ALL stayed. Now I 'ave to go check with Chief about w'at the Sergeant Major asked 'im to fetch. I'll just send in Casino for awhile, alright?" and the pickpocket was gone in a flash.

Actor was watching and at Garrison's questioning look gave a shrug of his own. Obviously Goniff just didn't want to talk about it. Actor would have to work on that; he had a feeling their pickpocket just might be their ace in the hole for dealing with their stubborn and proud leader.

They were back at the Mansion now, and things still hung in the air, like the scent of a week-old house fire - extinguished but with traces still evident. It was not a particularly comfortable feeling, that feeling of things unsaid.

The guys were arguing again; Garrison could clearly hear them from his vantage point around the curve from where they were resting from that last strenuous round on the ropes. He listened as they worked it all through, that debate as to why, when he was already ill and KNEW it, why he hadn't said anything, just led them out there as if everything was fine. Some of the reproving words did fit, he admitted ruefully; actually, all of them did. When it was over, it pretty much boiled down to -

From Actor, "it was his job, and his plan. He could not entrust it with someone else; it was his responsibility. And he does tend to be stubborn; once he sets his mind to something, it is difficult to change it unless it is his idea. That is quite often to our advantage, but, obviously, not always. It could have turned out quite badly for everyone."

"Wanted to be sure we didn't get sent out with someone w'at couldn't get the job done right, that's why! Well, you know 'ow some of those blokes are! And Matherson? The one most likely next in line? Couldn't con 'is way out of a paper bag, in my estimation! Likely none of us would've made it back! Can't blame 'im for pushing 'imself. Well, yes, we can, but not like it wasn't w'at we would expect. Should start watching closer, that's all," Goniff argued.

Chief seemed to agree. "The Warden wanted to be sure the job got done. Wanted to be sure we made it in and out alive. Matherson has his own crew, don't much like us. Once we did our part, could be it'd be like we've seen in the past. We get our heads shot off, no big deal for him. He just comes back, shrugs, says "too bad, but that's their job, right?" Might not even've GOT the job done. Like Goniff says, guy thinks he's too good to learn how to con someone. Probably couldn't con his own grandmother out of a sugar cookie. Probably if we HAD gotten inside, he would have wanted to bring Coxen and his stuff back too, even after seeing all it could do. Woulda figured it was his 'duty' and all. Woulda left us in one hell of a mess."

Casino was less than convinced of the claims of the selflessness of Garrison's actions. 

"Hell! Maybe that's all part of it," he admitted. "Probably is, and yeah, we need to call him on it if he pulls that 'I'm fine' shit again when any idiot can see he's not. But I still say most of it was him not wanting to miss out on all the fun! You know, getting to jump out of an airplane again, infiltrating a top secret operation like that, running a con everyone said would be the devil to get done, maybe getting to blow shit up, right along with the job of grabbing that Coxen guy - along with whatever else he could see interesting."

And while each of them argued for their own viewpoint, Garrison, overhearing all that, had to admit, they were each at least partly right, even Casino. 

Yes, they were right, along with the doctors who'd lambasted him for heading out with an ear infection in the first place. He'd heard more than a few words along that line, though thankfully none had questioned any deeper than the basic fact that he HAD been ill, had even accepted his disclaimer of not understanding how bad it could get.

Now, Major Richards understood, Garrison thought, from that knowing look. While the officer had issued a mild scolding of his own, it WAS only a mild one, one administered with a wry look of understanding, since Richards would probably have done the same. But since even the major's sister Julie admitted Kevin Richards was as stubborn as a rock more times than not, Garrison wasn't sure the major's understanding added much to his own defense.

Still, all that plus the second reminder from Actor made Garrison finally bite the bullet and call Goniff aside for a little private conversation. Saying thanks wasn't easy, especially when the very thought of being thanked seemed to spook the pickpocket almost to the point of running. 

But it had to be done, and at the end of the awkward few minutes, Goniff had firmed his jaw and given Garrison a considering look, one turning increasingly smug and knowing, even more calculating. 

Whatever Garrison was expecting, it wasn't that arch response that followed.

"Guess it was pretty big of me, now I think about it. Seems if it was, like you're saying, then you might owe me more than a little, Lieutenant. Wonder w'at you might do to pay me back? Should be something real important, don't you think?" 

Goniff had been well primed by Actor, spurred on by the other two, and had already determined just how to pull off THIS little con. It would have to be handled just right, but just the right amount of push, just the right touch, and it could probably be done. He just hoped he didn't have to whine or pout; he COULD, if need be, but he really hated when it turned out to be necessary.

Garrison was startled at that response, not really expecting that. He'd hoped for a flicker of a familiar grin, a quick "that's alright, Lieutenant. Think nothing of it!", not the suggestion that something more tangible was in order. Now he looked closely, trying to see that glint of humor, that mischievious teasing he would have been expecting. {"No, not a hint!"} which he found surprising, along with the lack of that familiar chuckle he'd come to expect from Goniff. 

He answered cautiously, having more than a little experience with his men by now. Heaven knows what Goniff thought might be an appropriate 'reward'! Garrison was appreciative, yes, but not foolhardy!

"Yes, I agree, at least theoretically. But if you think that means I'm going to turn a blind eye while you make off with the Crown jewels or get into the vaults at the Bank of England or something of that sort . . ." trying for a light tone.

Goniff got an amazingly stubborn look on his face, no give at all in his stern blue eyes. 

"Wouldn't expect that," he shrugged indifferently, then paused, cocking his head to look up at Garrison knowingly. "Besides, could probably do both of those WITHOUT you doing that, you know. Well, me and the guys, anyway. Not that we WOULD, but just saying!" 

Yes, THERE was that faint glint of amusement Garrison had expected to see earlier, though the timing, subject matter or that level of self-confidence didn't lower the officer's level of discomfort. 

Goniff continued, now a smirk fighting to keep itself under control.

"But what I DO want, what I've decided you OWE me, it's this. - "

And he was determined, and somehow, no matter how Garrison argued, he found himself, finally, agreeing to the reward Goniff was demanding.

And so it was that a chagrined Lieutenant Craig Garrison sat down the next afternoon with Doctor AJ Riley, village doctor and their own personal medical overseer by courtesy of Meghada O'Donnell, reviewing his medical records. He reluctantly filled in the various blanks created by his 'not wanting to nit-pick' or 'look like a slacker' or create issues for him doing his job.

After assessing Garrison's current condition, no residual infection, no lingering swelling, Riley considered the matter. Well, he'd been well briefed by parties best left unnamed. 

"So, no more sensitivity to noise or vibration, you say. You can exert yourself at your usual levels. Bend over, turn your head quickly without any dizziness or nausea. No more echoes?" he asked, since that was one of the things the officer admitted had been a big part of the experience.

Garrison flushed. "None that I can HEAR, not like you're thinking. A few mental ones, but that's something else entirely, memories, not actual voices or vibrations. Those I'm going to have to accept and deal with." 

Garrison looked inward, knowing that was true, all of it. Echoes of the voices of his men, along with that of his grandmother; those were comforting echoes. Echoes of the impatient, unyielding admonishings of his parents and the family physician were not nearly as pleasant. Echoes of screams - screams he'd only imagined while looking at those files of the victims of Doctor Coxen. Those would probably stay with him forever, would never be easy to bear. The echoes of the screams Doctor Coxen himself had given, while he still was able - somehow Garrison didn't think those would bother him - they didn't now, he doubted they ever would. If anyone ever earned those screams, it was Coxen, fallen victim to the poison he had created.

Raising a skeptical brow at that answer, but deciding to leave well enough alone if he wanted them to get to the crux of this appointment before suppertime, Doc Riley sat and reviewed the list Garrison had, under protest, finally given him - not a huge number of items, but at least a few not included in that military file. Things the doctor could see having the potential for becoming real problems without proper observation and care, especially with the types of jobs Garrison was being sent on. Certainly would be problems if the team continued to be unaware there were things they should take into consideration, should watch for, in case the officer decided to forget this lesson.

Garrison was looking more than a little sheepish. He'd never realized there were that many things he'd just brushed aside, even forgotten, until his pickpocket had taken him to task, had forced this sit-down on him. 

Now he recounted the numerous ear infections, treated with sweet oil and cotton and some nasty unnamed concoction by his grandmother and, after she was gone, by himself, at least the first two since he had no idea what was in the last. Though he'd admittedly done that quietly and where no one would notice. 

Doc Riley heard about those severe abdominal pains that had been met with such concern by the older woman and diagnosed as mild but troubling cases of appendicitis by HER doctor and treated primarily with ice packs. 

Though those things had been brushed off impatiently by his parents and THEIR physician, an ex-military man as was Garrison's father, as 'growing pains, all children get them! Coddling yourself only makes the tendency worse.' Those and a few other 'minor' things Riley calmly entered into his client file for 'Garrison, Craig'.

"And you never entered any of these into your medical records," Riley noted, not scolding out loud, though his eyes were certainly not approving.

Garrison flushed, "I was assured they were nothing important; my father had me checked out by his own doctor. Nothing to keep me from my chores, from school or training. Just 'growing pains', was the diagnosis. Hardly what someone headed for a military career would put into the records, AJ, and father's doctor was the one who prepared the medical files. And they were right; any of that might have limited what options, what duty I was given. A soldier 'soldiers on', doesn't complain about every little ache and pain."

"And the physician who examined you upon your entry into the military? He asked nothing of these matters? Or did you avoid the issue then, as well?" That came with a stern note of reprimand.

Garrison gave a reluctant snort. "Doctor Evenston, well, Major Evenston, WAS our family physician. He re-upped when the call came. He was in full agreement, just as before, as to what should be acknowledged, what should be set aside, by a military officer."

Garrison was very much aware of that watchful presence seated outside the clinic door.

Goniff had been bound and determined this visit WOULD take place, that Garrison wouldn't find some excuse, bail on the appointment. 

Garrison had stepped out the front door of the Mansion at the appointed time, headed toward the empty jeep waiting there, got behind the wheel and found he'd suddenly gained a passenger in the seat beside him. No words of argument, no direct order had discouraged the blond burr determined to stick tightly to him, and in frustration, Garrison had just started the jeep and headed off. 

Instead of turning toward the pub, where he'd firmly intended to call Doctor Riley and offer his apologies for having to miss that appointment 'due to official business', spending the appropriate amount of time with a pint before heading back to the Mansion, hopefully without anyone questioning him, (oh, he intended to keep that appointment - sometime - eventually) he'd found himself parked outside the clinic door, with Goniff waiting patiently but implacably for him to get out and get the job done. 

Garrison had gone in, reluctantly, Goniff right at his heels. The pickpocket had cheerfully settled himself into a chair, wiggling to get comfortable, obviously intending to wait for as long as it took. Garrison was sure the man was still there; he couldn't see the pickpocket taking a chance now of Garrison slipping out before the visit was officially over. 'Over' as pronounced by the doctor, NOT by Garrison.

"So, that's all? You're sure?" Riley asked, getting a rather sheepish nod in return.

"Very well. Nothing we can't deal with under most circumstances," Riley said finally. "Probably nothing to affect your performance, especially once I stock what might be needed, have it readily on hand, along with the quinine I already keep for your bouts of malaria. No, this can in most likelihood be managed - IF you start using that common sense you use so well in the field, Lieutenant, change a few habits. This last episode could have proved disasterous, your men not knowing your history, not thinking of an ear infection as a possible cause for your symptoms. And disasterous not just for you, it would appear. That really would have been a shame, wouldn't it?"

Riley's voice was calm, respectful, and as firm as a rock, Garrison realized. No, no give there, no humoring of Garrison's attempts to keep any weaknesses to himself, to keep his image of unyielding strength untarnished.

Riley let just a twitch of a knowing smile show, a glint of humor in his eyes as he surveyed the uncomfortable young officer. 

He'd wondered if Garrison would show up today, had been more than a little surprised to actually see the man coming in, Goniff nipping at his heels much like a sheep dog herding a wary sheep into a waiting enclosure. It seemed whatever reluctance Garrison had was outmatched by the sheer determination in the Cockney. 

It had been amusing to see Garrison's exasperation when he realized Goniff wasn't leaving, had positioned himself firmly in a chair outside the office door. Riley wouldn't be a bit surprised to find the pickpocket was also indulging in a little eavesdropping just to be on the safe side. Well, there had been that unusual request earlier by phone, that an empty glass and an assortment of magazines be "just sort of sitting there, you know? Just in case I'm wanting a drink and a bit of a read, and it seeming rude to take a nip from a flask in your place of business. Not too obvious, though; maybe back under one of the chairs, up against the wall? That one right by your office door, maybe."

"Yes, yes, you told me about soldiering on; and I do understand that. Admirable, I'm sure. We would all just like to keep you alive and well so that you can keep 'soldiering on' for quite awhile longer. You were amazingly lucky this time, with the loss of hearing in that ear being temporary. And even attempting flying, making a parachute drop with an infection like that - it could have caused the infection to travel, possibly to the brain, Lieutenant. Not exactly conducive to your 'soldiering on', even you must agree. And so, with your permission -and I warn you if you don't agree, I'll do it WITHOUT your permission - I will be speaking with your team, including the Sergeant Major, about a few things. And I'm giving you a short list of things to obtain from the store; I'll deal with obtaining what else might be required from my usual sources."

Garrison and Riley finished up, Riley shook the officer's hand as he escorted him to the outer office. Goniff was waiting, innocent look on his face, cheeky smile, open magazine on his lap, empty glass sitting tucked back against the wall on the floor under his chair, nearly out of sight.

"All finished then, Lieutenant? Perfect timing, as usual. Just finished this story about improving your memory and your ability to listen better and lots else; 'ad all sorts of 'ints even. Might even let me learn a few more words in French, you know. Wanted to use my time to good advantage, just like I knew you'd expect." 

Garrison glanced down at the upside-down magazine. "'Science Fiction Quarterly'. Yes, I can see how that would be just the place for an article on memory improvement and all the rest," he offered dryly. 

He had a feeling Goniff had spent the entire time with that almost-out-of-sight glass pressed firmly against the partition between the outer office and the inner one where that exam had taken place.

"Amazing w'at you can learn from the most surprising places, Lieutenant," Goniff assured him with an eager nod, those blue eyes as guiless as any four-year-old's. "Now, 'ow about we stop off at the store on the way back? Bet Doc Riley 'as a bit of a shopping list for us, aint that right?" the pickpocket had the gall to inquire, knowing quite well that to be the case. Well, hadn't he heard that list, himself, enough to remedy any sudden 'lack of memory' in their team leader. And there were other things he'd be watching for, he knew, and he'd be sure the others were as well.

He made a note to stop back by sometime and ask to borrow that magazine, though. Seemed like there might be a thing or two worth reading in there, and he really hadn't gotten the chance this visit. That story called 'Echoes', now; that seemed like something he should read, especially how many times Garrison had mentioned such a thing during his visit. Could be MOST interesting, though he'd never really given the matter much thought before. 

Along with that lead story, of course. He'd been disappointed there didn't seem to be a new Seabury Quinn story listed in there; Jules de Grandin and his Dr. Trowbridge were, between the two of them, a real hoot, in his opinion. {"Can get themselves into more weird messes than even the lieutenant!"}. But that lead, it seemed promising. He hadn't had a chance to glance through, but the illustration of some sort of swamp monster, covered in mud, dripping wet, with weeds clinging all over - that reminded him of that trip out where Garrison had gotten banged up in the first place. Odd title, though, 'Are You Lonely Tonight?', and there was that window in the big house that the monster was staring up at, with just that outline of someone behind the curtains. Yes, he really would like a nice long read with that one, if only to find out the connection. 

He liked science fiction, at least in stories and such; could do without it in real life, like with Doctor Coxen and his nightmarish experiments. Or, he admitted to himself, like a few others they'd come up against, including a few he'd not hesitate to call monsters though them looking not so much different than anyone else. Better those things were left in magazines and books and such; he had enough complications without having to deal with any of that, and he was pretty sure the other guys felt pretty much the same.

After the two had left, Riley found some satisfaction that he'd been right about the probable eavesdropping. That glass had no trace of having had a flask emptied into it; there was no hint of whiskey scent, and it was as dry and clean as when the doctor had slid it into the requested position. He knew he should condemn that as a breach of patient confidentiality, but seeing as he himself had been quite willing to engage in a little of that himself, if Garrison hadn't decided to be reasonable, he supposed he couldn't throw stones, especially since he had no doubt of the good intentions there.

"You 'ave a nice little chat with the doctor then, Lieutenant?" Goniff asked cheerily from his seat alongside Garrison. Garrison was driving as before; he'd just recovered, after all - had no intention of letting Goniff drive and perhaps land them BOTH flat on their backs (or upside down in a gully)!

"Goniff - just be quiet, okay?" Garrison requested, giving a stern glance at the man in the passenger seat. That was accompanied by a reproving shake of his head, a motion he was more than relieved was NOT accompanied by either pain or dizziness or that sloshing sound he really never wanted to experience again. That wicked and knowing grin, that energetic waggle of those expressive eyebrows, right along with that warm knowing chuckle delivered by his unrepentent pickpocket - that almost made him laugh. Almost, though not quite. {"Lord knows I don't need to be encouraging him!"}

Of course, Garrison got some of his own back later, when he informed the four men of his team that Doc Riley was expecting each of THEM the following day. 

"I found it so beneficial, I decided you shouldn't be left out. The times are listed on the schedule I just tacked to the door. Be there!" 

He chuckled to himself as he had a drink before turning in for the night at the look of sheer dismay they'd each had on their faces at that prospect. 

After all, if it was so important that the doctor know any of his little weaknesses, it was only fair that they share theirs! 

Well, maybe not ALL of his weaknesses. That newfound one of finding their concern reassuring, even comforting - they probably didn't need to know about that one. And that confusing mixture of exasperation, amusement, satisfaction, and quite a few other things - at being guarded and chivvied along by a small but fiercely determined sheep dog - no, NO ONE needed to know about that. 

He knew he'd have received a stern lecture from his grandmother over keeping those other secrets, the ones that had put him and his men at risk. Though he thought his grandmother would have found it more than a little amusing as well, at least the way he'd been manoeuvred into that doctor's appointment, and would have liked the idea that he had someone - well, it would seem, SEVERAL someones - keeping a fond eye on him. 

She would have liked his men, too, all of them, he realized, and they would have gotten a real kick out of her - her with her busy oven and gentle touches, all her stories about the fairies and elves and brownies that lived at the far end of her garden. Stories of all the mischief they could get into, how they could be dangerous, yes, were fierce and implacable adversaries if you offended them, but also capable of bestowing sweet gifts and great kindnesses on those they favored. 

Another drink and he turned out the light and pulled the covers up over him as he settled down to sleep, hearing the faint voices from down the hall. He smiled into the darkness, also hearing the echo of his grandmother's loving voice, sleepily trying to remember the names of all those she'd claimed lived there among the flowers and vegetable beds and fruit trees behind her house. Ones he'd met there, or at least pretended he'd met. 

"Ariel, Boxer, Moonbeam, Chipper, Bennis; TipTop, Cloris, Giddikens. And what was the name of that cheeky rascal that she had such a particular fondness for? The one she used to laugh and say was such a cunning little devil - always up to some mischief, but who had such an endearing smile and warm chuckle that you just couldn't stay mad at him, no matter what pranks he pulled? The one always teasing her for a treat? What did she call him?" 

And he drew closer to sleep as he tried to remember that name, how she'd described that cunning and sly and loveable elf. 

"Meirleach! That was it! That was his name! She said it meant 'thief', and that it fit since he was totally without shame - would try and carry off anything appealing that took his fancy. Blond hair, cheeky grin, a warm chuckle she swore would make you overlook whatever mischief he'd been up to. And blue eyes. No, I don't know that she said that, about his eyes, but somehow I'm sure he MUST have had blue eyes!"

And the echoes died away, even the kindly and comforting ones, except for the faint trace of a warm chuckle that echoed dimly in the air, and he slept.


End file.
